


Release

by OtakuElf



Series: Fear, Faith, and Friendship [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Amnesia, Circle of Magi, Exorcisms, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, The Chantry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is concerned and can not leave well enough alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sebastian to Nathaniel

Seated at his desk in the Chantry, Brother Sebastian dipped the nib of his pen into the plain glass ink well. Setting the point to the plain, but Chantry made paper, he began to write.

To Messere Nathaniel Howe, Grey Warden at Vigil’s Keep, Amaranthine, Ferelden

From Brother Sebastian Vael at Kirkwall Chantry, Kirkwall, Free Marches

Serah Howe,

I wish to discuss a matter of great urgency with you. We met in the Deep Roads when I accompanied Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, to seek you at your sister Delilah’s request. At that time you discovered that you were acquainted with a member of our company, the Healer and Grey Warden Anders. It is about Anders that I wished to communicate with you.

Anders has told me that you were the first to discuss the possibility of your mutual friend Justice sharing a living human body with a willing partner. I would be interested in hearing the details of your discussions both with Justice and with Anders on the subject.

It has become apparent over time that Anders’ health is suffering due to hosting Justice. Justice is also changing, as he has spoken to me, to Hawke, and primarily to Anders about the change that Anders’ anger has made in the spirit. Anders is concerned about the change as well.

I seek the knowledge that would separate the two of them, not to the detriment of either, and not without the express consent of both. If it would be possible to return Justice to his home in the Fade, I had thought that would be best. If you have alternative possibilities, please communicate them to me as well.

Lest you think that I am alone in this concern, Serrah Hawke has been in contact with a mage student in Tevinter asking him to research Tevene spells that might assist in separating the pair without damage to either. Hawke’s sister, Bethany, a Kirkwall Circle mage, is also researching as well as she can within the Kirkwall Circle.

Thank you for any information that you would be willing to impart.

Sincerely,

Sebastian Vael, Brother, Kirkwall Chantry

“There,” Sebastian said to himself, “If Meredith’s agents read this, it will be the three of us who are blamed. Bethany is ready, and protected by Hawke’s status. Nothing to suggest that Elthina has given me permission to pursue this.”

As, of course, with some concern, she had.


	2. Elthina to Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta-reader, Lunamoth116!

The Grand Cleric of the Free Marches city of Kirkwall examined another document from a deep pile of papers on the solid, polished wood top of her desk. This particular parchment was a request for permission to access certain restricted materials in the Chantry archive. Brother Sebastian Vael was seeking information on previous Exalted Marches, their causes, their repercussions. Before the assault by the blood mage Ostea there would have been no issue with Sebastian accessing the materials whatsoever.

There should be no issue now. The Grand Cleric rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to look at the request from the viewpoint of a Seeker, or someone from the office of the Divine. Obviously, someone under Elthina’s circle of responsibility was researching the role of mages in the Chantry. Equally obviously, this was a time in the world, in all of Thedas including those places outside of Chantry control, when forces were moving, polarizing to one side or the other of the mage debate. Should mages be granted more freedom and input into how the Circles should be run, or should their lives be more restricted in reaction to the increase in blood magic? 

Of the Revered Mothers, Sisters, and Brothers of the Chantry that Grand Cleric Elthina oversaw, the only one who could lay claim to the title of scholar was Brother Sebastian. As much as the Grand Cleric would have rejoiced in such a vocation, the truth was the the majority of people drawn or sent to the Kirkwall Chantry were there to do good works, to serve the Free Marches, or to be punished. A number of Chantry politicians had been sent to Kirkwall to remove them from the court of the Divine, with its increasingly stratified hierarchy. 

This was not the fault of the Divine, for whom Elthina had a healthy measure of respect. In good times people sought power. During the Blight and the famines thereafter opportunists consolidated it. Rumors of witch hunts within the Chantry faithful had reached Elthina’s ears, and she feared that such would soon come to Kirkwall. 

And then there were the stories coming out of the Gallows. Elthina remembered with a pang the laughing golden-haired girl that had been Meredith Stannard. They were of an age, and had known each other for decades. Elthina, Meredith and Orsino, working together over all these years. Meredith had changed - well, they all had, but this was something else, something deeper. Meredith no longer saw Elthina as a confidant, a colleague. Now Elthina was an impediment. And Meredith no longer had control over some of her templars, if Hawke and his people were to be believed.

Meredith saw Orsino as a possible plague vector instead of a charge. Templars joined the order for so many reasons. Meredith’s past was beginning to impinge on the Gallows in so many ways. It was harming Kirkwall, the mages, and the templars. Elthina suspected that the change was not so much Meredith as Kirkwall, especially considering the information that Sebastian and Hawke had brought to her attention. Cullen, the current Knight-Captain, would not be selected to replace Meredith except temporarily and in case of emergency. The list of possible replacements was far worse than anything that Meredith was currently in a position to implement. And Meredith would work with Elthina, albeit grudgingly. Some of the names on the list would not.

Elthina tapped the glass pen gently against the stack of Divine Justinia’s bound essays. Sebastian was due soon, and she had no idea what he would ask next. It had become a full-time occupation simply to try to keep up with the influx of information Sebastian sought out as a flower seeks the sun.

Was that Sebastian’s knock? Her secretary showed the Chantry brother into the small study. ‘Your Grace.” There was a loving smile on that handsome face as he knelt at her feet. The healing was apparent. Not completed, possibly never wholly cured, but healing. 

“Sebastian.” Elthina laid the pen down. “You come in good time. Will you walk with me in the garden? Sister Delphina has some new cuttings she would like to share with us.”

A wry grin. Ah, well. One cannot always be unexpected. Sebastian knew that she wished to speak with him without other ears. Pacing through the vaulted echoing hallways, through the dusty shafts of sunlight, they moved in companionable silence. The Chantry was not quiet. It was a living, thriving community. Elthina watched her people. It was an automatic part of her day: being aware of the ebb and flow, finding problems before they began by understanding her people.

Sebastian understood. He had always been a source of strength and support. Living in Darktown, surviving the attack - both had changed him. His timbre was darker now, his coloring richer. The Sebastian before had eschewed the politics of the sanctuary. Brought up with the court in his blood he had an innate understanding, but had avoided all such ties, all such aspects of the Chantry. Now the man absorbed everything, where before he’d reflected it. It had not been noticed by the other players within this Chantry, not yet. No one from the busy hive of Sisters and Revered Mothers had changed their behaviors markedly yet. 

At one point Elthina had thought Sebastian’s gender a shame. He had the potential to be so much, to do so much good in the Andrastian church. A male could only move up the stone staircase so far. Even with the concerns of his background, the setback of the tragedy of his parents’ and brothers’ deaths, there had been such faith. Sebastian’s loss of faith had grieved Elthina, but the strange men and women in Hawke’s circle had amazingly brought him back from the precipice. For that alone Elthina would be grateful, and Hawke’s people had done so much more for Kirkwall, and Elthina’s flock.

Sebastian held the heavy wooden door for Elthina to pass through the stone archway to the meditation garden. There were a number of gardens, including kitchen, simples and herbs, public, and a hidden garden that was used by the Sisters to create their own plots. Sun shone down on the a good portion of the crushed shell walkways through sweet-smelling herbs, set in a labyrinthine pattern.

Speaking quietly, the crunching of the shells beneath their feet providing a distraction for anyone attempting to listen, Elthina said, “How is your work with Sister Adele coming, Brother Vael?”

“The Sister is, ah, not invested in charity work in Lowtown. She finds working with me grating, Your Grace.” Sebastian was blunt.

Elthina snorted. “Sebastian, that one would find something to complain about in the court of the Divine.”

“Elthina.” It was a gentle chiding.

“Ah, well, it was an attempt.” Elthina gave a heavy sigh. “I had hoped for you to win her over.”

“She finds me -” Sebastian smiled “- suspicious. I have answered her questions about my history, so far as I can in good conscience speak of it. She did not actually listen to my answers. However, I do not think she is reporting to anyone within the Chantry. Which in itself I find disturbing.”

Elthina made an aggrieved noise. “Her singing voice is moderate, and her knowledge of the Chant is filled with a sad lack. I wish we had discovered who was behind her attempt on you and Anders, but as you say, I believe it to be someone outside of the Kirkwall Chantry.”

“About Anders...” Sebastian brought up delicately.

“Yes,” Elthina grumbled, “about Anders. And the mages. I am becoming extremely one-sided with all the information you keep funnelling through my ears.”

Sebastian gave the Grand Cleric a small smile. “Hawke has been in touch with Feynriel, the half- _elvhen_ boy I told you of, the dreamer. He has found an old text that speaks of ways to separate those possessed from their spirit or demon possessor. Combined with the information we received from the Hero of Ferelden, I believe we may have a way to sort Anders and his passengers out. The Dalish Keeper, Marethari, has agreed to help us.”

Elthina shuddered. “Abomination. Mages. Tevinter. Dalish. Yes, Sebastian, I know. Anders. Even so, we are treading perilously close to a barrel of lit _gaatlok_ here. Have you spoken to Anders at all yet?”

Sebastian looked down to where booted feet scuffed at the white shells. “No. Not to Anders, nor to Justice. It is not in my plans to speak to Vengeance.”

“You will get no change from that one,” Elthina laughed. “Has anyone actually suggested you speak to Vengeance?”

“Merrill,” Sebastian admitted. “However, Marethari spoke to her, and we heard no more after that.”

“I wish you well, when you go to speak to Anders. May his faith, and yours, lead you to the correct path.” And the Grand Cleric and the Chantry brother bowed both of their heads in prayer.


	3. Sebastian to Justice

Sebastian prayed for guidance. “Blessed Andraste, Holy Bride of the Maker, grant me knowledge of the paths before me, and wisdom to choose aright.” It was not the first time Sebastian had prayed over this matter. He did not think it would be the last.

The clinic doors were in front of him. How many times had Sebastian passed through them, walking and working beside the apostate Anders? The smell in Darktown had not improved, that was a surety. The lamps were not lit, which was a mercy. Sebastian’s business needed no witnessing. The Chantry brother straightened his simple robes, deliberately worn, marking him as a servant of the Maker and his bride Andraste. A solid knock with his knuckles, “Anders?”

Sebastian could not hear anyone through the wood and stone, then a faint, “Sebastian?” before the wooden door creaked open, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, fine,” Sebastian smiled at the welcoming grin he received from the Healer.

Anders stepped back to let the Chantry brother in to the clinic. Sebastian did not take a chair. “I need to speak to Justice, Anders,” he looked the man in the eye.

Those brown eyes shifted. Not a good sign to Sebastian’s mind. “Why?” it was blunt.

“There are questions I need to ask,” Sebastian tried for simple, “and then I would like to speak to you after.”

Anders heaved a sigh, frustrated, “Sebastian, I can’t tell where Justice begins and I end anymore. It isn’t as simple as it once was. We are not really separate any longer.”

“Try,” Sebastian urged, “I know that Justice dislikes me, but I need to speak with him.” Anders did not look convinced. Well, in for a penny, “There has to be compromise. Simply wiping out the status quo will not work,” Sebastian stating it baldly, “violent change is not the answer.”

Anders looked at Sebastian helplessly, “Sebastian, I just do not know. I know that the way we have now is wrong. So very wrong!”

Sebastian reached for Anders’ shoulder, if not to comfort, then to give the mage some human contact. “No!” power emanated from Anders’ no longer hunched form, pushing away the proffered hand, “You are not to continue with this,” the voice reverberated in the empty clinic, “The path is clear, and you seek to confuse Anders, lead him astray.”

“Justice,” Sebastian spoke to the spirit, “I have read your manifesto.”

“Anders’ manifesto!” roared the spirit.

“The Manifesto is flawed,” Sebastian protested, “The path you and Anders’ walk now will not end with freedom for anyone.” Taking another tack, “Justice, please,” Sebastian begged, “The path that you and Anders walk now will lead to injustice. Death for innocents, both mage born and those not.”

Anders eyes narrowed. They were blue now. “And the Chantry is so very concerned with justice.”

“The Chantry, yes. As I am the Chantry. And Elthina. But Anders matters to me. I am in his debt for his care of me, as you know,” Sebastian spoke as calmly as he was able.

The scoffing tone vibrated with the presence of the spirit. “If you were truly indebted, then you would still be serving at his side. You would speak out publicly on behalf of the mages so long held captive by your Chantry.”

Sebastian was calm, “Each soul must do what he or she believes is right. Each receives a calling from the Maker. What is your calling, Justice?”

“Foolishness. You know I am set by my very being to battle against injustice. My very existence is to see Justice done.”

“Anders has told me that you sought justice for those folk imprisoned in the Fade by the Baroness of Black Marsh,” Sebastian had decided to use logic.

“Yes,” the vibrations shook Sebastian’s body, though he and Anders were not touching. 

“Did they receive Justice?” Sebastian had given this discussion far too much thought.

“No,” a deeper vibration, simple and no further answer.

“What did they receive?” Sebastian pursued, “Justice, what did you give them?”

“Vengeance,” Anders eyes opened and red swirled in their depths.

“Which is better? Justice or Vengeance? Which is the stronger?” It was this answer that would be the key.

“You are impertinent, Sebastian, brother from the Chantry, whose vows have been broken,” the reply was a growl.

Sebastian nodded acknowledgement of his failing, “My failure notwithstanding, I am asking you the simple question. Which is stronger? Is it Justice? Or is it Vengeance?”

There was silence, and Anders’ body froze, the red that had taken over his eyes mixed now with the blue of Justice’s avatar. In no aspect was there a hint of the Healer’s warm brown. Anders began to shudder, the energy flowing around him swirling blue through red, at times mixing, then clearing to one color or the other. Sebastian feared an explosion. It did not happen, the energy, the colors, the sound of the spirit, all just stopped. At first Sebastian thought that Anders’ eyes had turned white, but as the body tilted forward, and Sebastian had to catch it before the mage collapsed on the ground, he realized that Anders’ eyes had rolled up into his head.

Kneeling with Anders in his arms, Sebastian could see that the man was still alive, still breathing. When Justice opened blue ice eyes, he looked up into the worried face of the Chantry brother. “Justice is stronger,” those words were only slightly less reverberant.

“Maker help us, are you alright, Justice?” Sebastian had not expected a battle within his friend’s body between the corrupted Vengeance and the unyielding Justice.

Justice sat up, drawing away from Sebastian, “I am in control.”

“Not the same thing,” Sebastian reminded the spirit. 

“No,” echoed through the clinic, “Do you have more of a point to make? Than that Vengeance is dangerous?”

“Yes. Anders has needs. You are interfering with those needs, from the most basic one of food and drink and sleep, to dealing with friends. Your other self would throw Anders’ life away at a gesture. Are you the same?” Sebastian was blunt.

Silence. Justice opened his mouth, then closed it. “If it is a sacrifice,” the spirit began.

Sebastian finished it for him, “It must be made willingly, without coercion. Without manipulation. Justice, this is not your body. Anders will destroy himself for you. Which is worth more, a living hero? A man who by his life proves that a mage can be trusted, can be important to the community? Or a dead body? A past name who provides a trigger for violence and death to his own kind.”

“This is a rhetorical question,” Justice said without emotion. Anders’ normally mobile face was eerie in the placidity. 

“Not for some, Justice. To me? the answer is obvious. To someone like Meredith Stannard, the perspective shifts to a bit of a different view,” Sebastian kept his voice even.

“I do not like to be compared to Knight Commander Stannard, Sebastian, and I suggest that as manipulation of it’s own,” a hint more emotion there.

“Do you deny that it is a valid description of Meredith Stannard?” Sebastian was not arguing for argument’s sake, “Do you see Meredith as a banner for stability, for compromise?”

The rumbling voice admitted, “Your point has been made.”

 

“If we could find another body, not a living being, or return you to the Fade, would that be acceptable?” This was the important offer.

“To what end? In what way would this further the cause of justice for the mages?” was there curiosity now, “For I sense that you have a further plan.”

Sebastian drew a deep breath, “Anders and Hawke have told me about the basis of Kirkwall. That it is built to increase the power of blood magic. It was formed to take advantage of a variety of demonic influences, of spirits trapped in this area.”

A nod of the blonde head, the blue coated eyes shrewd. Sebastian continued, “We can not battle all of this on our own. Nor can we fight this war solely in Kirkwall. We will need an advocate, an ally in the Fade, on the other side of what Anders calls ‘the veil’.”

“You would return me to the other side of the Fade. To fight in my home for the citizens of Kirkwall. In what way would this assist the mages?” yes, Justice was intrigued.

“Because,” Sebastian explained, “Anders and I would be working on this side to decrease the ability of Kirkwall to exploit blood magic. Hawke and his people would continue to battle against blood magic and demonic possession, against abomination. Knight Captain Cullen has spoken with us about educating the mages in the Gallows. There are Templars who support Anders’ cause.

"More and more mages are being born. There are an increasing number of families who are related to someone of mage kind. We can work to make the change. Anders himself is proof that a mage can be beloved.”

Coldly, “But if Anders is discovered to be possessed?”

“It would go badly for him,” Sebastian replied. He paused, “He is already a convicted murderer. I am unsure of a means to overturn his conviction by the Chantry Court as it is. There is a great deal of legal work that will need to be done, and I am no lawyer.”

“You do not seek to deceive me regarding his status,” commented the spirit.

A laugh there, “Anders does not believe himself innocent. But he is not what his conviction paints him to be.”

“Very well,” Justice bowed Anders’ head, “Explain to me your process. Tell me how we will accomplish this ‘separation’.”

Sebastian breathed what could only be a sigh of relief, then sat down to begin his explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please understand that Vengeance was not around as an entity during Blackmarsh. Justice is hindsighting.


	4. Anders to Sebastian

“No!”

“Anders?” Sebastian struggled to keep pleading from his voice.

“No,” said firmly enough but with a thread of panic.

Sebastian opened his mouth, not to argue, to plead his case. He closed it. “Tea,” he stood, shoving the wooden stool back with his legs.

“Tea?” now Anders was outraged.

“While you take a moment to get ready to listen, please,” Sebastian swung the iron kettle on a crane over the small fire. 

Anders grumbled mutinously, “I don’t see why I need to listen to anything. I made my decision. I made my choice a decade ago. I can live with the consequences of my actions.”

Sebastian did not ignore Anders, just listened while rinsing the pot, measuring out the dried leaves, fetching the mismatched clay mugs. Anders sniffed the steeped tea in the mug warming his hands. “Lavender?” a blonde eyebrow raised, “For calming me?”

Sebastian gave a faint smile, “I would like you to give my proposal some thought. Due consideration.”

Anders blew out, a disgruntled raspberry. Sebastian sipped the tea. It had been a while but he had gotten the brewing correct. “Alright,” Anders conceded, “Present your argument.”

With a deep breath, “Anders, you have said yourself that joining with Justice was not healthy for either of you. Justice was harmed by your anger. By your humanity.”

Anders examined the steaming, scented liquid in his mug. He said nothing. “Anders, human and spirit do not mix in a single body. It is time for Justice to go home.”

“How,” the mage’s voice was low, “Did you convince him?”

“Justice?” Sebastian would have said more, but Anders cut him off.

“No, Vengeance! Of course Justice! What did you say to frighten him into agreeing?”

That stopped Sebastian, “You think I frightened Justice? What possible reason would I have to try to manipulate Justice?”

“To separate us,” Anders was blunt.

“To what end?" Sebastian was daring Anders to say it.

“You want to maintain the Chantry status quo. You and Elthina would separate me from Justice’s strength. Any small bit of power must by kept from any mage,” the bitter tone stabbed Sebastian as much as the words.

Calmly, “How would making you weak serve any purpose of mine, Anders? How can I protect Kirkwall if you and Justice destroy each other? And others with you?”

“As if it was not standard Chantry practice to,” Anders’ voice faded but came back stronger, “to control mages. I am a danger to you. to the Chantry.”

“Kirkwall needs you to be strong. The Chantry needs you to be strong. Anders, this is about saving you both, not weakening either of you!”

“How can you say that?” there was the red thread of anger, “When you want to take my strength away.”

Sebastian put his hands flat to the table top, “Would you like to kill me, Anders?” It was almost conversational.

“What?” it was a physical jerk back. The red disappeared from Anders’ eyes, the anger from his voice. Anders slammed his hands down in mirror of Sebastian’s on the scarred wooden surface. “Fine! Say it is possible. Say that Justice wants to,” a swallow, “to leave me. How will you accomplish this?”

“There is a spell. Tevene, but not blood magic, simply old. Feynriel believes the ancient Tevinter Empire took the spell from the Elvhen kingdom when they conquered it.” Sebastian pulled a folded page, Feynriel’s notes, from his pocket.

“Feynriel? You dragged him into this? Does he know what you are?” Anders’ voice rose in disbelief.

"Feynriel, Nathaniel Howe, a Dwarven woman named Sigrun that I have not met, Theron Meherial, Hawke, Elthina, do you know how many people care for you, Anders? Are willing to move Thedas and the Fade to see you well and whole? You and Justice both?” Sebastian leaned forward in his intensity, voice rising at the end of each question, still not raising his hands from the table.

“You are all meddling, and you do not understand,” Anders shouted.

Sebastian did not lessen intensity, “Then explain.”

There was an uncomfortable length of silence before Anders looked away, “I will be alone.”

Sebastian took a breath. He looked, if anything, confused.

“You will take Justice away, and then I will be alone. All alone. To deal with the world by myself. To fight the unending battles by myself. I will be captured and executed or at worst trapped in my own mind with Tranquility, all by myself,” the monotone was soft, and Anders’ face a mask of grief as though Justice was already gone.

“Anders,” Sebastian questioned, “You are a mage. You will be able to speak to Justice in the Fade. Will you not?”

Eyes closed, Anders’ body heaved with a sigh. He nodded. “It won’t be the same. Do you have any conception of what they will do to me when they do finally capture me, Sebastian?”

He did. Sebastian and Anders had discussed it at length, and in detail. “You are destroying him, Anders,” was all that he could think of to say.

Another sigh, then a deeper nod. “I’m afraid. Frightened of what will happen after he goes. What if I have totally ruined my friend? How will I fix it? What if I can not cope making all my decisions on my own when he is gone? Who will come after me, once they know that I am no longer... protected?”

“Do you want reassurances? Or honest answers?” Sebastian asked.

That brought a snort, a halfway laugh. “Honest answers between us, Sebastian.”

Sebastian took a sip of his own tea. “After he goes? We go on fighting. He will be fighting on his side of the Fade for the same thing we will be seeking. A way for mages to live within our society. To enjoy families in safety, without destroying the community in a bloody battle for power. If he is hurt, no, we know he is harmed by your association. You have been as well. You will heal. There must be a way to heal spirits, and you will find it, or find someone who can discover it. 

"Justice does not make your decisions for you. And his advice is not always good. You will take it into consideration, just as you take mine, Hawke’s and Varric’s. Then you will make mistakes. We all do. We are human. Well, Varric is not, but you understand, we are people, and people make errors, then deal with the consequences. As you told me you are willing to do with your decision to house Justice from all those years ago. You kept Justice safe with your body. But now we will try to send him home.”

The Chantry brother shook his head, “Do you know, I’ve forgotten what your last question was?”

Anders opened his eyes, the brown in them clear and searching, “Who is going to come after me?”

Sebastian tried not to laugh, “The same who are after you now. That, for one, will not change.”

“No,” Anders shook his head, “I will be open for possession. As I will be no longer possessed. In addition to Templars and the Chantry, the Seekers, and the Gallows, I will be contending with spirits and demons of the Fade, and blood mages and abominations.”

Sebastian looked away. “What?” demanded Anders, “Say what you are thinking?”

Turquoise blue met brown, “You will be subject to the same temptations that your fellow mages undergo every day, Anders. And keeping in mind that we have met Templars and others who have been possessed in this city built on blood magic, as you remember Lady Harriman, who was not a mage? You will be like every other man or woman.”

“Your point?” Anders ground out.

“You,” Sebastian smiled gently, “Will be just like everyone else.”


	5. Hawke's Company

Perhaps it would have been more intelligent to do this in Varric’s not so palatial suite. Hawke’s home had room, the parlor was spacious and the seating was adequate. Bodahn, Sandahl and Orana had provided unasked for and untouched refreshments. When invited to take part of the proceedings they had declined chairs and were standing against the wall at the back of the room, attentive, but obviously not part of the discussion. Well, neither Sebastian, nor Hawke, nor Anders were going to force them to behave differently. But all in all, that it was Hawke’s mansion added a layer of intimacy that made Anders uncomfortable.

They were all there. Well, all except for Bethany. Donnic leaned behind Aveline’s chair, his hands resting on her shoulders. Merrill sat on the hearth rug at Hawke’s feet, her legs outstretched. Varric had Bianca leaned against his heavy wooden chair. The Dwarf had told them Bianca might be quiet, but she gave good advice, and so should be included. Between those, Isabela reclined across the arms of a large padded chair, her head down toward Merrill’s, her feet resting atop Varric’s chair behind his head. Fenris leaned against the marble mantelpiece, his sword conspicuous by absence.

Sebastian and Anders sat on the other side, waiting for Hawke to speak, and looking as opposite as possible. Anders perched on the edge of an overstuffed, armed chair, hands clenched together, obviously filled with jitters. Sebastian sat straddling a backward wooden kitchen chair, his arms perched comfortably on the back, leaning comfortably. Hawke cleared his throat, “I wanted to discuss Justice with you. Anders is going to try to separate from him using an spell from Ancient Tevinter. We would like your help to accomplish this.”

Well, no one had said that Hawke put things off. Isabela sat up, and Varric demanded details. Merrill, who had been involved from the beginning was watching reactions. Fenris stepped forward, “Are you mad? You could kill the mage, and loose the spirit on us all!”

There was a moment of blankness, of silence as they all turned and stared at the _Elvhen_ fighter. Varric considered him, “I would have thought you’d be the happiest to get rid of Justice, Broody.”

“It has never been kept hidden that I believe his acceptance of the spirit to be a wanton act of folly,” - Anders laughed bitterly at this but Fenris ignored him - “Casting some form of spell on the chance that it might release him from his status as abomination is foolishness. For all we know the spirit may be the only one remaining in Anders’ body at the end of this experiment!”

Anders melodramatically threw his ponytail to the side, “Might just as well cut my head off to ensure nothing bad happens to anyone that matters, right, Fenris? Because it is not as though I am taking any risk here, nor Justice, after all. The danger is only to yourselves.”

The glare Fenris directed at the mage was incandescent. He spoke, however, to Sebastian, “This was your idea, Sebastian? I can not think that Elthina would stoop to supporting spellcasting, let alone some demonic spell from Tevinter! Are you thinking that this will save Anders’ soul for your Maker? When it may very well destroy him? What cost are we going to be asked to pay for this?”

Anders stood up abruptly. He looked down at Isabela, who shook her head slightly. The mage’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. “Fenris,” he started out of the circle, “We need to speak. Privately,” and he stalked from the room, slamming through the unobtrusive doorway to the kitchen.

All eyes, _Elvhen_ , human, Dwarven, were on the white-haired, lyrium-branded elf in front of the fire. A knot cracked in the pine fire, but no one moved, not a jump, not a flinch. No one breathed either, until Fenris growled and walked after the mage to bang through the door.

Varric raised an eyebrow, “I am torn. Either I listen at the door to Blondie and Broody 'fight', or I make use of our time and find out what exactly you have in mind, Hawke and Sebastian.”

“Sadly,” Isabela laughed quietly, “I am certain that they are not in the kitchen engaging in steamy sex.”

Orana made a sound of distress, but did not leave her station against the wall by Sandal. “Oh, Orana,” Merrill meant to sound soothing, “I think Isabela’s right. They won’t be having sex on the table. And in any case,” she spoke with the certainty of experience, “It can be cleaned. It has been before.”

Horror, absolute, took over Orana’s gentle face. “Yes, well,” Sebastian sat up and said loudly to Hawke, “Garrett, would you please tell everyone what Feynriel discovered?”

“Yes,” Hawke was overloud as well, “We have been in contact with the Hero of Ferelden, with Feynriel, and Bethany has been researching as well. During the Blight the Hero managed to free a young boy from possession by a Desire Demon by fighting the demon in the Fade. A team of Circle Mages used lyrium to send a mage bodily into the Fade. 

"Marethari has done that for us as well, to help Feynriel when he was under attack. The spell that our young half- _Elvhen_ apprentice has discovered should separate Justice from Anders, but only if we send a mage into the Fade with Anders to do so. We wish to do this without destroying Justice. We had planned to send Marethari and Merrill. Marethari as the experienced mage, and Merrill as our representative, and someone that Anders might trust more than the Keeper,” there was an unhappy sound from the Dalish First, “Merrill, you know that Anders does not trust the Dalish. He might not trust you as a Blood Mage, but he certainly will feel more at home with you than Marethari.”

Isabela asked, “If Anders, the Keeper, and Kitten are all in the Fade, who will send them?”

“Bethany,” Sebastian supplied, “Elthina will pressure Meredith to loan a group of healers, Bethany included, to the Chantry. The Knight Commander would never lend Bethany to Hawke, for fear that Hawke would escape with his sister. But it is in keeping with Elthina’s requests in the past to loan out mages from the Gallows for public health reasons. We would disappear Bethany for a short time, temporarily only,” was that for Hawke’s benefit, “to work the spell that will send them to the Fade. She has what First Enchanter Irving from the Kinloch Circle used for the Hero, and Marethari will teach her the Dalish spell. To be certain.”

Aveline nodded, “I can pressure Bran to be part of the request as well. Meredith wishes power. Bran is good at wording requests so that they will be granted, for all that he fears Meredith greatly.”

Isabela shot a glance at Merrill, “This is all well and good, but how will you get Marethari to cooperate? The last time we tried to get something from her she refused to aid Merrill, and ended up giving that wood working tool to Hawke.”

Merrill leaned back against Hawke’s knees, eyes closed, “We are negotiating. I am fairly sure that we can trade that same tool back for what we need. It proved,” a sigh, “not useful in my work.”

“Where does this rite need to take place?” Varric sounded intrigued.

“Sundermount,” said Hawke and Sebastian together. Why was no one in the room surprised?

 

Fenris banged through the light door. The vast kitchen looked gray, with only a small oil lamp glowing in the tall window. Anders leaned against a high stone sink, arms crossed, staring at the reaching ceiling, possibly at the herbs hanging from the rafters. They could hear discussion start in the room they’d left, not what was being said but a gentle murmur of recognizable voices. 

“What exactly,” Anders’ voice was gentle, “Is your objection?”

“Was what I said in the study not clear enough?” Fenris’ angry tone was not, “You will have your soul sliced from your body, at the mercy of a spirit or demon or what you wish to call it, and a Blood Mage who will be casting a _Tevene_ spell. Do not tell me that Merrill is not part of this. You yourself do not trust the witch. None of the rest of us can do this.”

Anders looked down at the man before him, obviously _Elvhen_ , though tall for his race, and equally it was easy to see his profession by the stance. “Bethany,” he began.

“Is in the Gallows, and not likely to be let out for our convenience,” snarled Fenris, “You can not cast the spell on yourself. Who else is there? That we can trust?” he amended.

A deep breath, “Bethany will be seconded to the Chantry for a public health sweep. She, using a large quantity of lyrium, will send Merrill and me, and Marethari, into the Fade, where they will cast the non-blood magic spell to separate Justice out from my body and into the Fade. Where he will stay while the rest of us come home.”

“Marethari?” it was not a sneer, though it sounded one, “How will you get the Dalish Keeper to help you with such a thing?”

“Merrill,” Anders said it calmly, “Will barter for her aid.”

Fenris felt his mouth drop open, “You will put yourself into debt to the... To Merrill. Merrill is going to help you?”

That could not be Anders’ teeth grinding together. “Yes. Merrill is going to help me. Me. And Justice. And is, of course, simply delighted to be of assistance.”

Fenris started to laugh. Anders relaxed, let out a breath, and began to chuckle himself. “It won’t be blood magic, Fenris,” that came out hesitantly, “And I won’t be alone.”

“No,” Fenris agreed, “Because I will be going with you into the Fade to make sure.”


	6. The Dalish Encampment on Sundermount

They were not invited into the _aravel_. In point of fact, the Dalish Keeper greeted only one of them, and that gravely. “ _Andaran atish’an Hawke_.”

“Marethari,” the black bearded giant was unfailingly courteous to the frail white-haired _Elvhen_ woman.

Sebastian found himself noticing so many bits and pieces of the camp that tied in with Merrill’s explanation of Dalish beliefs. Clothing, tattoos... _vallaslin_ , decorations on the _aravels_ , all pointed to their gods and history. The Chantry brother wondered what outside eyes would read of the Chantry in Starkhaven’s or Kirkwall’s dwellings. Would the same atmosphere of distrust and dislike smother those strangers? Sebastian uneasily thought that it might. _Elvhen_ and Dalish were not often welcomed. Nor Qunari.

Hawke was speaking of Feynriel, and then the boy’s mother had been called for. News of the child must certainly work in their favor when Hawke asked his boon. “I do not see how we can help you, Champion,” the aged voice of the Dalish Keeper was cold, “This is not within our realm. It does not touch our clan, nor the Dalish interests.”

“Marethari,” Hawke was not pleading, he was leading, “Surely your interests lie with ours in this. We return a spirit to the Fade, and a powerful Healer is set free who heals without regard to race or culture.”

“So you say,” Marethari’s eyes flickered to Anders’ face, “However, aligning ourselves with the _Shemlen_ is problematic.”

Merrill, who had been silent up to this point, spoke, “Anders is the most powerful Healer I have ever seen, Marethari. Surely having him in our... your debt is a useful thing.”

“What else,” the Dalish Keeper’s eyes did not leave the blonde mage’s, “Are you willing to offer for my assistance? It is no small thing for you to send me, to send four of us, into the Fade to walk the spirit ways. Do you feel that your sister will be able to hold us there? Does she have the strength?”

Hawke nodded, “Bethany will be able to do this, as you once did. And did you not tell me at the time that Fenris was easier to send than any you’ve ever worked with?”

This was news to Fenris. Was it the brands? Merrill sat up and held out her hand, holding the _Arulin’Holm_ , “I offer the return of this as well to seal the bond.”

The white-haired Keeper blinked, “Perhaps it would be best if I send the mage Bethany, the Healer Anders, Fenris and Merrill to the Fade instead, keeping watch over them from the altar on Sundermount.”

“Keeper, please,” Merrill begged, “Stand with me on this. I can cast the spell, but I would have you there with me. You have skills that we may need if the spell does not work as predicted. Bethany has battle spells, and a small amount of healing. She is not a Keeper. Feynriel or I might be able to manage, but I would feel better if you were with us.”

Marethari’s eyes scanned them all sharply. “Feynriel as well? Very well. I am amenable. Gather your spell items, and we will proceed as you direct.”

Hawke’s Company camped away from the Dalish camp. It was not quiet around the little fire, though not as noisy as among the _Elvhen_. Hawke was telling stories of Ostagar, a high dragon, and arriving at Kirkwall. They’d heard those tales before, but he told them with gusto, and it was enjoyable to hear the big man banter back and forth with Varric about the details. 

Isabela was not silent about her past, and Varric told them about his arrival in Kirkwall with his brother and an entourage of Dwarves from Orzammar. Fenris was sandwiched between Isabela and Sebastian. The former Prince of Starkhaven was listening to the stories, asking questions to draw out details. 

Anders was quiet, sitting slightly away from the others. As he stared into the flames, blue ice slipped and slid across his eyes. Small arcs of electricity traveled over knuckles, hands clenched on the knees of rough breeches. Fenris glanced over from time to time, but it was without speaking. Isabela bumped against the _Elvhen_ , “That doesn’t bother you?”

“He,” Fenris seemed sure, “Is thinking.”

A bell like laugh. “That much is evident. But Justice...?”

That earned a look, “Give Anders a chance to say ‘Goodbye’, ‘Bela.”

“Will they go through with it?” Isabela’s curiosity would not be silenced.

A nod from the white-haired fighter. Fenris was thoughtful. “I see no way for them to refuse and survive.”

Anders raised his head slowly and looked into the moss-green of Fenris’ eyes with his own of iced blue. Justice still, not Anders. “Is survival of such importance, then?” The reverberation claimed the attention of the others around the fire, and there was a moment of silence from the Dalish Camp in the distance. 

Hawke’s deep voice responded, “If the mages are to prosper, if Kirkwall is to survive? Then, yes.”

Electricity crackled along Anders’ body. The blond hair slipped out of the leather tie as it became a halo around the mage’s head. “Is it Anders’ survival that you wish?”

“And yours,” Hawke said with good nature, “Your survival and healing are a part of this little exercise, Justice.”

“That remains to be seen, Hawke,” and with that the blue drained away from the golden brown, the electricity in the air vanished. Anders rocked backward, waving away the offered hands. “Maker help us all if this does not work tomorrow!”

They knew better, all of them, than to ask “What could go wrong?”


	7. The Rite

Fenris watched the mage that night and next morning. Sebastian watched Fenris. Hawke ignored everyone except Merrill and Bethany, disappearing early into the tent he and Merrill shared. Isabela, after trying to get Anders to drink with her, volunteered to take third watch, then crawled into the scrap of canvas she was sharing with Aveline and Bethany. “Go to bed, Anders,” Sebastian said quietly, “No need for you to take a watch tonight.”

The glowing blue eyes lifted from their examination of the worn copy in his hands. Anders’ manifesto. Justice’s manifesto. “Anders will be able to sleep tomorrow, Sebastian,” the rumble of the spirit’s voice did not echo in the darkness.

Sebastian nodded. “It will not do you any good to stay up, Justice. Is there anything you wish to speak of? Any reason why you do not wish to sleep?”

“This will be my last night in Thedas. The air is so thin here, so lacking. But I find that I will miss this place,” Justice’s eyes slid across the darkness around them, back to the fire, “I will miss the people I have become acquainted with here.”

Sebastian nodded, not because he was one of the people Justice would miss. They had no lies like that between them. The Chantry brother could understand leaving one world, one home, to be forced off to another. Thinking on it, he could also understand trepidation to returning to that original home. Absence changed things, changed people. It was difficult not to think of Justice as a person now, in spite of what Merrill said on the subject. “Tell me of the Fade, please?” Sebastian wished to give Justice something to do aside from sitting by the fire.

“The Fade is a potent place. The air is filled, thick with promise,” the spirit began.

When Sebastian and Fenris took their places under the canvas of their tent, the former prince had much to think about. It did not keep him awake that night, though it would in times to come.

…

Sundermount was cold. There was birdsong, but no animals in view, and blessedly, no rotting corpses strolling along the path to impede their way to the site Merrill had designated worthy. The party traveled in their standard order, comfortable and sorting themselves without thinking. Marethari moved with Hawke, speaking not at all to other members of the company, and barely to Merrill. When they reached a flat semicircle, surrounded by rocks and and dark spaces, Merrill led them to a cave, one of many against the mountain face. Sebastian watched Anders shiver, take a last long look at the cloudless blue sky above them before ducking under the overhang, and into the passage leading to the cavern.

“Why here?” Hawke was asking Merrill in his basso voice.

“We are far enough from other dangerous and sensitive spots on the mountain that I believe the rite can be performed without interference from spirits,” came the fluting answer.

The mages huddled, it was cold and damp, though the ceiling was high enough even for Hawke to stand straight. Marethari went over the spell that Bethany would use again. Merrill repeated the spell Feynriel had taught her. Anders looked sick at heart and kept quiet, though he smiled an enormously, and obviously false, cheerful grin at anyone who looked at him.

Merrill stood on her toes to kiss her lover goodbye. Even so, Hawke had to bend down to respond, his large palm resting on her thin, birdlike shoulder. When no one else spoke, Sebastian turned to Anders and held out his hand, “Good bye, Justice. I wish you well in your return home.”

For a moment he thought the spirit would refuse his hand, but the grip was sudden and strong, “Farewell, Sebastian. Guard my friend. Save those whom you are able.”

Sebastian was to stand guard outside, but he watched the beginning of the ritual, heard the words pouring from Bethany’s young lips, felt the pressure building until Merrill, Marethari, Anders, and Fenris were gone in the blink of an eye.

“Now we wait,” and the Chantry brother gracefully ushered Isabela out the passage ahead of him.

…

Fenris thought the Fade was much as he remembered. Odd, the colors and the light not right. Marethari was speaking, and her voice sounded distorted in this place, “Where is Feynriel?”

Merrill, checking her bag to find the packets of herbal ingredients she’d stowed there last night spoke without looking up, “Feynriel is not coming to this place. He has set up a cordon in the Fade around the site to prevent anything unwanted from disturbing us.”

Anders glowed, his body cracked with icy blue. “Home,” his words echoed, “I am home. And yet, I am not alone.”

Fenris kept his thought to himself. Of course he was not alone, Merrill, Fenris, and Marethari were there as well. Merrill looked up sharply at the words, “What do you mean, Justice? There should be no other spirits here.”

“Ah, Child,” came Marethari’s distorted tones, “I am afraid he means me.” The frail, white-haired _elvhen woman glowed red, her eyes bright with a bloody light as her body began to warp and grow._

Merrill stood, her hand holding a single packet of the spell’s components as she cast a shield to block the morphing shape before them. The slender, small form became taller, bulkier, red, with multiple eyes peering at them from atop a Pride demon’s huge form. “I had planned on taking the Dream Walker. You let me believe he would be here, Merrill. For shame, misleading your Keeper,” the sound was no longer Marethari, but the roaring of a spirit in the Fade. 

“What are you doing here?” Merrill’s shock was evident.

“You know this demon?” Fenris had drawn his Mercy blade and stood at the ready by the former Keeper’s First.

Merrill did not look away from the demon, “It is the spirit who spoke to me in the cave further up the mountain. The one who told me how to clean the _Eluvian_. But he was sealed in that cave. He was not able to escape it without assistance.”

Pride demons all tended to look as though they were grinning so far as Fenris was concerned, but this one had a touch of self-satisfied smirk to its monstrous face, “Your Keeper sacrificed herself to save you, poor child. Are you willing to do the same for her? You are young, in far better health that this poor old bag of bones. Think of what you could do with the power to save your people. Or perhaps I could trade with the Healer for his frame. You wish to be rid of the parasite inside you? You wish to be spared from existence alone? I can perform that service for you.”

Justice glowing blue in the face of the demon’s red stood stalwart at Merrill’s other side. “You have no place here, monster! You may not have Anders.”

Fenris muttered. Was it, “Out of the frying pan, and into the fire”?

“Fenris?” Merrill’s birdlike voice was steady, “Keep the pride spirit off of us until I can cast the spell on Anders. Please do not kill her. If this spell works with Anders and Justice, then it should work to free Marethari!”

Merrill’s chant was high pitched, but steady. Slim hands wove up through the air, in time with the Tevene. Fenris did not think she understood the meaning of all the words she chanted, and neither did he, though Tevene was his native tongue. So far as he knew, anyway. The Dalish _Elvhen_ ’s concentration was focused solely on the blue glowing form that was Anders and Justice. Fenris swept his Mercy blade between the Dalish woman, Anders, and the hideous monster that was the Pride Demon striving to reach them. The blue glow increased, a throbbing pulse, matching time with the chant’s rise and fall. Anders eyes closed as ice blue cracks formed in his skin, golden hair puffing out from the leather tie that dropped behind him, hair forming a halo around his head sparking blue.

A loud crack sounded and resounded and Anders went flying backwards, leaving the glow, an icy figure in plate mail. “Free!” the rumbling voice echoed through the Fade, drowning the sound of Fenris holding the Pride Demon at bay. Fenris had heard this voice once before in the Fade. To Merrill the sound was more real and present than she had ever heard, before known only as an overlay to Anders’ own voice.

“Maker,” Anders sat up and put a hand to his head, “How did I get here? Am I in the Fade?”

“Anders,” Merrill’s piping voice and Justice’s boom came in chorus.

“Justice?” Anders responded, “Were we able to get you back home? Who is the pretty elf?” Then sighting Fenris doing his best to keep the Pride Demon from them, “Pretty elves? Hmmm? _Vallaslin_. Dalish? Are you mages too?”

“Anders!” Fenris shouted, “Help would be appreciated!” and then, as a fireball flashed into the demon’s face, “No!” both Elvhen shouted, “Don’t kill it!”

“It’s a demon,” shouted Anders in reply, “Of course we need to kill it!”

Justice boomed, “Anders, the demon possesses the Dalish Keeper, Marethari. Merrill must exorcise the demon to save the Keeper. We, and Fenris, must hold the demon until Merrill can cast it out!”

“Fenris being the very interesting elf with the great big sword, and Merrill is the pretty lady in green,” Anders straightened his robes and smiled charmingly at the astonished Merrill before sending a careful bolt of ice to bind the Demon’s legs.

Merrill summoned her wits, scrabbling for another packet of components before she took a deep breath and began to chant anew, facing the monster invading Marethari’s body. Fenris shifted blue off to one side while Justice glowing attacked from the other. With Anders the three held the demon while a pale Merrill, drained from the first casting, repeated her spell. Anders shouted as he attacked, seeming to enjoy the challenge, commenting on Merrill’s Tevene, on Fenris’ glowing _‘vallaslin’_ , on the Demon’s ancestry, while smoothly fitting in tandem with Justice’s attacks. Fenris dodged a spell and was sent flying from one swipe of the creatures’ claws. The monster broke the ice binding his legs and went after the chanting Dalish woman. Anders slipped between the demon and the tiny mage, “Get your own girl, demon!” as another flood of ice tripped the demon and allowed Justice to attack while Fenris recovered and leapt back, glowing into the fight.

Merrill reached the crescendo, her voice strong, carrying across their section of the Fade. No glow this time, but a second loud crack sounded and a small form flew away to crash to what took the place of ground in the Fade. "Now!” roared Justice.

Anders sent a bolt of energy at the Demon’s eyes. “Anders!” shrieked Merrill from where she now knelt by the still form.

“Anders!” growled Fenris, lyrium lighting up as he swung the Mercy blade.

“Oh!” Anders bolted for the prone form of the Keeper.

The Keeper, Marethari was it? was old and fragile, thought Anders, and sporting a large knot on the back of her skull, though there was no blood in the straight white hair spilling out of the tight bun. Merrill watched the Healer lay hands on her mentor, then levering herself up with her staff to join Fenris and Justice in their battle against the Pride Demon. Merrill was shouting something as she attacked. Anders was not looking at the combatants, nor listening to the Dalish woman, delivering some form of ultimatum. The familiar warmth of healing magic flowed from the center of Anders’ being through his strong hands and into the still form of the Elvhen woman. She was not dead, and though bruised seemed in reasonably good condition.

It had not escaped Anders’ notice that this Marethari had been knocked out of the Pride Demon by Merrill’s spell in Tevene. Possession was curable then! Anders would have to trust that Justice would explain who these strange people were and how they’d all gotten here. The Keeper’s eyes blinked open under the flow of healing, “You? Hawke’s healer? Where is Merrill?”

“The pretty little mage? Fighting the Demon,” Anders looked curiously, “Were you possessed?”

Eyes closed slowly, “I must have been. I took the demon into my body to prevent its taking over Merrill. It was inevitable that it would destroy her. I could not let that happen. You should have killed me.”

“Good thing for you that there’s a spell to help, though I had not thought there was,” Anders took time to watch the fight going on beyond them.

“Yes,” Marethari said, “I seem to be free. Though I know not how Merrill has done this. We are in the Fade? Who has sent us here. How are they holding the spell?”

“No idea,” Anders grinned, but looking forward to finding out, “This could be very useful.”

The battle ended with Merrill sending some form of bright, green energy into the demon as Fenris thrust his glowing sword completely through it, and Justice called down something of a glowing blue nature. Anders automatically classified the two spells, though he had no idea how Fenris was using his magic. With the panting combatants staring at the spot that no longer held the Demon First Born spirit of Pride, Anders stood and helped the Keeper to stand as well. Then moving to take Merrill’s hand, he smiled down at her, “Hello there, pretty lady, my name is Anders. You must be Merrill. I am pleased to be able to assist someone so beautiful, and am always willing to help the Dalish, though I do not know which clan you three are from.

"My commander, Theron Maherial, sent us to help you for some reason that I am not clear on. Justice? I must have hit my head. I am missing some crucial pieces of information.”

Merrill’s jaw had dropped and she was staring at Anders with wide green eyes. There was a bark of laughter from the male _Elvhen_ , who spoke to the empty air, “The mage is now flirting with Merrill. Everything Isabela said was true.”

Anders cocked an eyebrow and sent him a grin. Then he purred, “I am an equal opportunity flirter, Fenris is your name?”

The look he received in return was confusing. It was calculating, measuring and Anders had feelings but no clear memories that he might have been physically engaged at some point with this man. Looking at him Anders was certain that he would happily do so again. Fenris said wryly in flawless Tevene, “And now we see whether it was the spirit or the mage who was abomination.”

“You,” Anders gave the attractive male elf a severe look before replying in Tevene, “Are confusing me. Now,” turning his attention back to the female elf and the Trade tongue, “Merrill is your name?" He smiled engagingly and leaned down to the petite woman, “Why don’t you and I get to know each other better?”

“Anders!” Merrill took a startled step backwards, holding up her hands as a barrier between them. Anders’ eyes flickered to the neat small scars littering her hands and took a step back, “Blood mage?”

“Yes, Anders. We’ve been over this so many times before. I use only my own blood. And for this ritual none at all. Demons and spirits are but names, and one should be wary of both. Fenris, I do think he does not know us at all. But he remembers Theron, which is interesting. It is also interesting to see what Justice really looks like though. I had expected him to be... well, not so blocky,” the little Dalish cocked her head and looked back and forth from Anders to Justice.

Justice?” Anders looked to where his bright blue armored friend was standing. Then sharply, “Are you hurt?” for the blue glow had wires of red climbing through it, “How can I help?”

Justice held up an armored hand, “Anders. I do not believe that you can cure what ails me. Though I had hoped to leave this rage behind me, it appears that I am changed by our association.”

Fenris deep voice challenged, “Will you keep your word? Will you help us here in the Fade?”

Anders bristled at the statement, “What do you mean by that?” it was equally challenging.

Fenris waited for Justice, who stirred restlessly before soeaking, “Anders. It is five years since we served Theron Maherial in Amaranthine.”

Merrill’s voice sounded, “I think it is amazing that you were one of Theron’s people. When you were a Grey Warden, I mean.”

“WAS a Grey Warden?” Anders laughed, “I am a Grey Warden. Don’t like the Deep Roads much. But being a Warden is not something one can quit.”

“Anders,” the reverberating voice came, “For the past five years we have been fighting for the rights of Mages in Kirkwall of the Free Marches. You and I. In a free clinic in the depths of Darktown, among the poor. We rescued mages from Knight Commander Meredith and the Gallows, and fought against the Templars who had enslaved your kind.”

Anders mouth opened, but no sound came out. He blinked, and the three elves and the spirit stared back at him. It was silent, or as silent as the Fade can be. Finally, “Why don’t I remember this? Did people not notice that you were a dead man at the time? Or any time in the past what, five years? I wouldn’t think it was much of an advertisement for a free clinic to have a rotting corpse hanging around,” Anders sounded as though he were joking.

“Do you remember Nathaniel,” asked Justice, “And what we were discussing? About what to do when Kristoff’s body degenerated to the point that it would be of no further use? Anders,” for all that the voice was huge and echoed in the Fade, it sounded uncertain, “What Nathanial discussed, you and I accomplished. You and I shared your body since we left Amaranthine five years ago.”

“I think you stunned him into silence, Justice. Quite a feat,” the dark voice of Fenris was buzzing over Anders’ startled mind.

Justice’s voice was angry, “You are the one who should be silent, Elf. You have ever been our opponent on the rights of mages to live free lives.”

Looking up Anders saw the red streaks intensify. “Justice, you,” the Healer stood and moved to the spirit, “Are you in pain?”

“I am filled with Anger, Anders. Your Anger. It has changed me.”

Pain filled Anders Face, “Justice! I am so sorry.”

“It is,” Justice paused, “not painful exactly. Uncomfortable. Different. Wrong. Vengeance has not taken me over entirely. It is also,” another pause, “Not Just to say that this was caused solely by Anders. We have changed each other.”

“I don’t remember,” Anders touched the spirit, attempting healing. The energy glowed into the being before him, but made no change in the red lines.

Merrill’s flutelike voice came from behind, accompanied by a small warm hand on his arm, “I don’t think Anger can be healed, Anders. At least not from a spirit. To do that they must be capable of growth and change.”

Fenris’ voice chanted in Tevene, words from the Chant about the First Children.

“No!” Anders shouted, “Justice! You learned so much while you were in Kristoff’s body! You were changing when we fought together with Theron and Nathaniel and Velanna. It can not be all wrong! Fight this! Vengeance is the problem? My anger has made you willing to destroy in revenge? Vengeance is not you!”

“Anders may be right, Justice,” Merrill was thoughtful, “You have changed, and you may be able to hold the anger. Use it for your promise. Turn it to Righteous Anger.”

Anders looked slowly at Merrill. “What did you promise, Justice? Was that spell what separated us? What price did you pay?” there was a moment, “And why? Did we not work together well?”

“Anders,” Justice seemed to be reaching for words, “I was killing you. Sebastian spoke with me about our partnership. He convinced me. A human has needs that are beyond what I can understand, even using Kristoff’s memories, and yours.”

“Who is Sebastian?” Anders was confused, then angry, “And what blighted business was it of his?”

“Anger,” Justice said with a rasp, “Has so many parts. Righteous Anger is all that I knew. Your anger is of such a different flavor, even when it is Righteous.”

“And it is anger that is harming you? My anger?” Anders went on hopelessly, “I can’t cure you, Justice. The only way to deal with anger is to control it.”

“As you hid it until we joined? As you tried to control your anger with humor and rebellion?” Justice asked, “As much as I was never able to understand your humor at Amaranthine, I see now that it is a reaction to injustice. I will miss it.”

“Miss it? Will I never see you again?” Anders’ face was wet. He could feel the tears sliding down his cheeks.

The blue glowing armored form shook it’s head, “You will see me in the Fade over Kirkwall. I have made my vow to fight for the mages there, as your people will be battling in the city itself. This is not forever, Anders. It is a separation, but you are a Mage. You can see into the Fade. You will find me here.”

Merrill made a squeaky throat clearing, “We need to go home now, Anders. Back to Thedas.”

Anders looked at her, then to Fenris and Marethari, standing and watching him. “Justice,” he smiled up into the helmeted face before reaching out to pull the spirit into a hug. Electricity, or some form of blue power, wreathed the pair during the embrace. Merrill muttered unhappily. When Fenris glanced at her she whispered, “I do not want them to join Again! Once was hard enough to separate. Twice for this spell, and I am exhausted. Three times... I do not wish to do it!”

It was unnecessary. Anders stepped back. “Until I see you again, Justice.” He signaled Merrill that it was time to leave. Not to home. Kirkwall, he had no knowledge of Kirkwall, nor to any of these strangers. But back to the world he had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, actually, was the first chapter I wrote. The story started with Merrill separating the pair, while fighting off Marethari with Fenris, and went on from Fenris' reaction to Anders' loss of memory.


	8. Anders

Knees in the dirt. Yes, loose dirt flooring, cool and damp, not the clinic. Clinic? What clinic? Why was he kneeling? Head hurt so much. Anders felt drained, empty, sad. He was being pulled to his feet by a huge bear-like man. Bounty hunter, or Templar? Hugging him. No! Panicking Anders threw off the arms around him and staggered away to rest against the cool, roughened rock face, almost dark with the torch light flickering behind him.

Murmuring voices, there behind. The three Dalish, a rumbling deep voice to match the bearish man. Stealing a glance under his arm he could see that the big man had gone to another, a slim, dark haired mage who looked worn, mana drained. She was wearing Circle robes. Refusing the man’s aid she looked over to where he was lurking. Lurking was the correct word, lurking and looking at her.

The three Dalish were arguing. The Keeper, her First, and the male fighter. No one he knew outright, and trying to force it made his temples throb. His head felt so stuffed full of cloth it was hard to think. Time to take stock. Anders stood and braced his back against the wall, enjoying the cold feeling against sore muscles. Brain not functioning so well, it was time to listen to his body.

Which was telling him that he’d had sex with the male elf, but with none of the others. The male elf, Fenris’s behavior was not indicating a relationship, or at least not a sexually consistent one. The big man and the small human mage he considered and felt a pang in his chest. Unrequited then, if anything. No interest in the Keeper and her First. Looking down to catalog himself, he was wearing Tevene robes, not a personal preference, he hoped. And feathers. Lots of feathers on his shoulders. Ratty looking for the most part. Reaching up he pulled the loose strands of golden hair back, and slipped the leather tie over them again.

“He doesn’t know us, Hawke!” it was an accusation from the elf. Fenris? Fenris sounded highly offended. Hawke must be the huge bear. Now the blood mage was fluttering around the woman from the Circle. “Bethany” she was saying. Okay. He had names for them all now. Hawke for the Bear Man, Bethany for the Circle Mage, Merrill for the Blood Mage First, Marethari for the Keeper no longer possessed, Fenris for the upset elf. Those names all sounded right. He knew them, he knew. Anders just couldn’t THINK. 

A cool hand placed on his forehead brought his attention back to the cavern. “Anders,” her voice was gentle and sweet, “Do you need healing, water, or lyrium? Which is it?”

“Headache,” he sighed into the pleasantness of her hand.

The woman, dark hair unbraided, expression still sweet in spite of being Circle bound, nodded. “We’ll get you some water. Sebastian has a fire going outside. He has some dried elm bark, I saw you pack it for him. He should have a kettle of tea brewing, and he knows how you like it.”

Sebastian again. “Senior Mage?” he asked, to her nod of agreement, “Thank you.”

“May I check if you need healing, Anders?” gentle and persistent. At his nod the light touch of healing flooded his system, a diagnostic spell, refreshing him. The warm blue flood pushed the headache back, but his mind was still cloudy. “Be...Bethany?” he asked, and received a nod. “I am not clear in my mind right now. Things are not coming to me quickly. Templars?”

“No Templars here,” Bethany reassured him, “They don’t know I’m gone from the Gallows, and they don’t come to Sundermount unless they’re searching for mages among the Dalish.”

Anders’ cry of relief coincided with his muscles relaxing, as he sagged against the smaller mage. “Thank Andraste and the Maker!”

The others were all staring at him, the Healer realized, and he straightened himself, stood almost on his own. “Right!” and as the room began to close in on him Anders caught hold of himself and said, “I really need to get out of here.”

Fenris was there, proffering a shoulder before any of the others moved, “He’s claustrophobic,” explanation to Bethany, “We should get him out under the open sky.”

“Claustrophobic?” Bear man Hawke sounded puzzled, “When he works in Darktown?”

Well, that told Anders who knew him well, and who did not. Blighted muscles, shaking, was it from too much exercise? Fenris and Bethany between them maneuvered him to the entrance of the cavern, but the path was too tight for the three of them to walk together. Anders caught hold of the rough ochre of the cave rock and pulled himself up, “I can manage. Thank you.” He could not, but they respected his wishes and let him clog up the passage while he worked his way twenty some feet to a dark cool evening.

He must have looked like hell, based on the shocked expressions. There was a man, quite good looking, auburn hair and in white armor, a familiar woman wearing no pants - yes, it was an automatic cataloging, Anders had slept with her, and then a broad red headed woman in plate mail, with some form of guard insignia. “Anders, man! Did it work then?” and that was the pretty man who had a strong accent.

“Sweet thing, you look like the Void!” came from the extremely voluptuous brunette. Anders wanted nothing more than to rest his head on that fabulous bosom. It looked pillowy and soft.

“Where is Hawke? Where are the others?” came from the guardswoman.

“Here,” came Fenris’ voice behind him, “The spell was successful. Bethany says that Anders needs tea, Sebastian.”

“Thank the Maker,” this… Sebastian replied as he began shuffling items from a pack.

“Not too much honey,” Anders found himself saying without a thought behind it.

A joyful grin flashed at him, as the, well, Anders was not certain what Sebastian was, but he was tending the fire, no sword, only a knife, so… cook? Sebastian was mixing a spoonful of ground elm bark into the mug of tea followed by a dollop of honey. “Sit down, drink. Merrill’s and Feynriel’s plan worked then?”

There was a growl from the elf, who had gracelessly dropped next to Anders. That deep voice ground out, “Twice over, so it seems. But Anders is not remembering who we are.”

“Twice over?” now it was the red head’s voice as she looked up to the cave entrance, managing to convey her willingness to spring into action. Anders found her wearisome. “Pride demon,” he croaked after swallowing a mouthful of tea. “We released the Keeper from possession. It is possible.”

Joy on the cook’s face. Intent examination on the bosomy woman’s as she searched both his and Fenris the Elf’s visages. The big red head was blocked from entering the cave by Bethany’s exit, followed by Marethari, Merrill, and finally Hawke. The Keeper was stumbling, and her First took charge, settling her by the fire, thanking Sebastian for the mug of tea he offered.

Bethany sucked down her tea as though it were not steaming, then held the mug out for more. “Anders needs to eat,” she told the world at large, “As do I. And Merrill. I’m surprised we’re still standing with all the mana we used.”

Stew appeared, rabbit, Anders thought as he swallowed the pieces almost whole, chewed in passing, and went back for seconds. The cook snared a bowl for himself, then sat by Anders, he was hemmed in by Fenris and the man. Looking sideways Sebastian asked, “Is Justice gone?”

Anders rolled his eyes before he could stop, “Justice is gone.”

“Not dead though.” Was the cook concerned about the spirit?

“No, not dead. He’s in the Fade. He said he’d meet us in Kirkwall,” Merrill chirped from her seat between Marethari and Hawke. The huge man dwarfed the Elvhen, but his attention was on Bethany to his other side.

“And,” a hesitance to the question, “Vengeance?”

“Still there. Still a part of Justice,” the male Elvhen growled, “But he has lost his foothold. Merrill hopes that we can find a way to cure the infection of Anders’ rage.”

Well. That sounded like an accusation if there ever was one. “I am too tired to ask the questions I need answers to,” Anders announced, "and until I get those answers, and some portion of my memory back, I can not defend myself from accusations of whatever I’m supposed to have done.”

A bald statement. It startled the party of adventurers, for so he categorized them. Fenris hunched over his bowl of stew looking discontented. Most of the others looked started. Sebastian smiled fondly at them both, “Of course. You share that tent,” he pointed, “with Fenris and me. Your bedroll has your pillow on it.”

Anders set the wooden bowl and carved ivory spoon down. “Thank you for supper. It was very good,” and after a careful bow the mage stumbled over to the tent, crawled inside and lay down on the pillow that his mother had embroidered for him.

The last thing he heard was the redhead’s strident voice, “Yes, but is Anders safe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, well. I have found it annoying that there is no way to save Marethari. Not because I like the Keeper, or any of the Dalish, actually, aside from Merrill. They're meant to be nasty, and the in game writing reflects that.
> 
> But if it's possible to save Conner, then why can't Anders and Marethari be saved?


	9. Can't Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders does not know who these people are.

Anders stared up. Canvas tent. Bleached, not dyed. Familiar and yet he hadn’t a clue how he’d gotten here. In Kirkwall, of all places. The Marches. Not Amaranthine, with Velanna snarking at him, Nathaniel looking glum about life in general, and Sigrun being disgustingly cheerful. And the Commander. Where would he be without the Commander telling him to settle down and behave?

How had he managed for five years without the Commander keeping him out of trouble? Even with Justice being all responsible and everything, Anders could not see how he had remained at large for five years without the templars catching up to him. He was, after all, wanted on suspicion of murder. Or - there was an echo there - was there more to that?

A shaft of fear sliced through Anders and he had not the slightest idea where it was coming from. Something he had done? Something horrible? Something red. No. Anders decided he didn’t want to remember whatever it was. Anders wanted to go home. To Amaranthine. Such as it was. Even though he’d spent all his time there wishing to be elsewhere.

Who were all of these people? People tended to frighten Anders. He’d never been particularly good at socializing. People always wanting something. Seducing, now that he could manage. The short sweet thrill of desire, and of being desired. The heady rush of orgasm. Then, off to get back to whatever he was interested in at the moment. Sex was not social exactly. Not in the Circle. Sex was hit or miss, been there, done that, and let’s move on.

Okay. A deep breath now. The big bear man. Hawke. A Fereldan. He was the leader. They all - these strangers - deferred to Hawke. It seemed that Anders had been working for the man as a healer. Hmm. Was Hawke a business man? Did he own a mercenary company? How had Anders started working for the man? 

Hawke. He was cheerful, wasn’t he? Expansive. Anders would go to bed with him in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Hawke was in love with the blood mage. Hmm. Like Velanna, Merrill was definitely someone to avoid. As was Marethari. Anders thought the Keeper was more than self-assured. She was one of those who thought she was so right that others had to bend to her whim. Anders found himself (once again) very pleased that he was not Dalish.

The big red-headed woman - aggressive. Templar assertive. Also from Ferelden, to judge by her accent. Not interested in her, and if her words outside while he was supposedly unable to hear her - through a canvas tent, so she must not be particularly bright - she was not to be trusted with any mage. What had they called her? Aveline?

Then there was the dwarf. Varric. Anders tended to like dwarves. They weren’t afraid of mages. Not as such. Mostly he’d known the dwarves who had been doing the stone work at Vigil’s Keep, and the Legion of the Dead that Sigrun had belonged to, and the dwarves who had come to take over Kal Hiroth. Actually, that was a fair number of dwarves wasn’t it?

Varric seemed like none of them. He was beardless, to begin with, though not in the least like Sigrun, and not feminine. Anders had felt the dwarf looking at him all through the evening. Varric had kept them all entertained during supper around the fire with tales of Kirkwall. He’d avoided saying right out that Hawke was this Champion of Kirkwall. It was entirely possible that of the magic users in his story, one of them might be Anders. There had been that sparkle in the story-teller’s eye that warned the mage about the references within the stories. A joke at Anders’ expense? Actually, Varric seemed like the type to mock everybody. Someone not to be trusted, then.

That brought him to the woman with the very nice upper development. The Rivaini. She was familiar. Anders could not place her. It was like an itch that there was one person here that he should remember - because obviously, he had met her before - and her name was not coming to him. Someone not from the Circle, obviously, so he must have met her either as a Grey Warden, or in one of his many escapes from Kinloch Circle.

How did he get to Kirkwall? By boat, obviously. Not, as Varric had joked that Hawke arrived - riding on a dragon?

Anders rolled over in his bedroll, burying his face in the pillow his mother had embroidered. It was here, in this place, the pillow his mother had given him as he was taken away by the templars. How had these people known to bring this, to make sure it was out for him when they got back from the ritual. Even if he’d put it here himself, how had the cook known it was important to him? Taking a deep breath, Anders was not certain that he could still smell the sweet herbs that his mother had used for the stuffing. Wishful thinking? That was no longer home. 

Where was home now? Was it these people? Who was that irritating cook? A cook in armor? White armor? What in the void was up with that?

His hair pulled as the mage rolled onto his back. Settling, pulling the blanket up to his chin, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Yes. Sleep. Come on, sleep. No good.

Anders sat up, gathering his hair into a neat ponytail and re-tied it, then crawled back out of the tent. 

The fire was lower now. Flames flashed across shining white armor on the cook and the vallaslin of the strange elf. Everyone else must be in bed. Or bedroll.

The pair at the fire paused in the midst of their discussion and looked to where Anders stood. Gesturing toward the logs they’d been sitting on for the meal, Sebastian (was it?) turned back to his discussion with Fenris.

Sebastian continued the conversation while hooking the kettle over the fire. “Anders,” this stranger said to him, “Any questions you have at all, ask them. We will be here for you.”

Anders looks in enquiry, scans the man up and down, “Who exactly are you? And why are you sticking your nose into my blighted business?”

Fenris, standing close behind now, said quietly, “He remembers nothing of Kirkwall.” Anders could feel the three of them, the elf, the cook, and the mage staged before the gray canvas tent; the others staring at him. Everyone else had found somewhere to be that did not involve them in this. Except for the woman from Rivain, Isabela. Suddenly Anders realized that she was perched on a rock nearby, obviously listening.

He looked into those turquoise eyes in the cook’s lovely face, “We haven’t had sex,” a long look, “Why not?”

Turning his head, he says, “I’ve had the elf, haven’t I? And you,” he calls to Isabela on her rock, “I remember you.”

Isabela purred, “Why Sparklefingers, I should certainly hope so.”

The cook, Sebastian he supposed, had a thoughtful look. Slowly, he said, “We have not had sex for a number of reasons. You were possessed by a spirit of Justice who believed sex was a waste of time. For that reason you have not had sex often in the past ten years. 

“As for me? I am a brother in the Chantry, and sworn to abstinence.”

That stopped the mage. He flinched, unable to stop himself. Then Anders gave the man standing by him a look over. Rogue, his experience said. “Go on, pull the other one!” he jeered.

The Chantry brother laughed ruefully. “Truly,” he said, “I am both a Chantry brother, and I am sworn to abstinence and poverty. And you are my friend.”

Sebastian was thinking about Karl Thekla. Thekla’s death had been traumatic for Anders. If Anders had lost his memory for good, then it was something that would have to be brought up eventually. Now was not that time. 

Anders’ reaction to Sebastian’s admission, saddened the Chantry brother, and he did not try to prevent the mage from seeing it. A rush of guilt, and Anders’ defensiveness rose up.

The blond mage accepted a wooden mug of steaming tea, leaned back, discovered that there was nothing to lean against, and recovered himself quickly. The Chantry brother was speaking to the elf now, “Fenris, stop pacing. You’re not making things any easier on Anders.”

“It is not my purpose to make things ‘easy’ on Anders,” said the elf, “and you did not ‘have me’ so much as I ‘had you’.” Still he didn’t seem exactly angry. More morose.

Anders hissed at the burn of hot tea on his tongue, too hot to drink, then responded, “Semantics. We had sex. I enjoyed it, or I wouldn’t remember that bit. Or my body would remember it a different way,” he finished thoughtfully. 

“Fenris,” the woman on the rock’s voice sounded close in the darkness, “Be a dear and go to bed. Things might be better in the morning.”

“Better,” muttered the white-haired elf, “He remembers none of us. How can that get better?”

The woman’s tone was indecently cheerful. “He can get to know us all over again! Won’t that be fun?”

The sour look in reply made Anders hide his face in the mug of tea, rather than exacerbate the situation with a laugh. He liked this woman. 

“For that matter, Isabela, why don’t you go to bed as well. Anders can’t sleep, obviously, so he might as well keep watch with me,” the Chantry boy spoke with authority that Anders was beginning to think he might actually have. At least in the absence of Hawke.

“Suit yourselves,” and the buxom Isabela flipped in a somersault off of the rock. “Come on, Broody,” she said as she dragged the glowering Fenris into the tent.

That left Sebastian and Anders sitting by the fire. Silently for the most part, but it did not feel awkward. The sounds of the mountainside were those of small animals in the darkness, the soft woosh of an owl’s wings, insects. 

Anders cleared his throat, but did not speak, as he went back to the wooden mug with steaming tea. He could taste the bitterness of ground willow bark mixed in, and the lacing of only a touch of honey - not too much.

That touch - tea fixed exactly as Anders liked it - it hit him like a bolt in the chest. This was real. Ten years of memories had happened, and he had lost them all. All gone with Justice. It was enough to make a dwarf weep, let alone Anders. Still and all, he was skilled at keeping up an unemotional facade, no matter what the templars had thought.

“You might try looking into the Fade for Justice,” suggested Sebastian after a while. Poking the coals of the fire with a twig, he was obviously not thinking about the fire.

“Headache. Not conducive to Fade diving at the moment.” Then as though he was softening the brusque comment, the mage added, “I’ll try in the morning though. Of course, I did just battle alongside him fighting that Pride Demon. So it’s not as though I haven’t seen him for a while. And it was just yesterday that we were in the Deep Roads looking for darkspawn with the Grey Wardens.”

Sebastian nodded. “A shock to find so many years have passed, I’m sure.”

“Not to worry,” Anders found himself saying sleepily, “It will all work out in the end. I’m alive, aren’t I? And not Tranquil. I’m not in chains, or in the Circle. Or even in the Deep Roads. I may be out of my depth, but that’s never stopped me before.”

The auburn-haired Chantry brother passed a pack to the golden-haired mage. “Rest your head on that, awhile.”

Anders woke up as the sun rose, his head on the pack, a thick, warm cloak laid over him, and Varric polishing his crossbow across the fire. “Good morning, Blondie!”


End file.
